


Icarus Rising

by Kestrel337



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Flash Fic, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, ignores Zurich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 05:43:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4595070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrel337/pseuds/Kestrel337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So why DID Martin name his business Icarus Removals?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Icarus Rising

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jay_eagle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_eagle/gifts).



> Work of fanfiction. No disrespect intended, no money made. John Finnemore is a gift to this world. 
> 
> This is a gift for Jay_Eagle, who has had a rough time of things lately.

It was when he went to help Martin move out of the attic that Douglas found the box. A tattered box, such as might contain shoes, that had been covered over in self-stick shelf paper with a clouds-in-the-blue-sky pattern. The lid bore a painstakingly sketched set of wings, the left one rather thin of primaries, and with an odd overwash of color along the leading edges. The contents weren’t heavy, but there was something about the box; its position, maybe, centered under Martin’s pillow, or the attention to detail in its design, or the wear on the lid that spoke to frequent openings. 

Or maybe it was simply that being with Martin had granted him a particular form of grace and sympathy. For whatever reason, Douglas didn’t pull off the lid and start rummaging through the contents. Sinking to the edge of the bed, he cradled what was obviously a very private object between his palms, and waited for Martin to return.

“It’s all tied down, Douglas, so we can...oh.” Martin had been changed, too, by their relationship. He didn’t stammer, or blush, or demand that Douglas hand over his possession. Most tellingly, Douglas thought, he didn’t ask if Douglas had opened it. 

“The yellow on the edges is meant to be wax, isn’t it? Wings of Icarus?” 

“Yes. You can open it, if you want. It probably needs going through, anyway.” 

He’d been right; there wasn’t a lot in the box. But each item had been carefully curated, and the whole made a very interesting picture indeed.

The first item was a stack of envelopes, bound together with a strip of blue and gold ribbon. Douglas didn’t have to count them to know there were seven; he could see the logo in the return address, even if his heart hadn’t told him what they were. He set those carefully aside and lifted out another stack, this one older, the envelopes mismatched in size and haphazardly torn, instead of slit, open. He cocked his head questioningly.

“Rejections. Just about every flight school in the country.” Martin’s voice was quiet, but steady.

Beneath those was a battered book, _Icarus, the Boy who Could Fly_. Douglas made a mental note to seek out a readable copy; this one was held together with a hair elastic. He twanged it lightly. “Stolen from your sister?”

“She was forever leaving them all over the house; I didn’t figure she’d miss it.” 

Douglas nodded and pulled out the last item. Clearly a school report, and done when Martin was very young. Even then, he’d had precise penmanship. The paper had earned a mid-range grade, the teacher noting that young Martin had ‘missed the point of the story’. 

Martin cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable for the first time since finding Douglas holding the box. “You have to remember, I was...very young. But I still think…” 

Douglas silenced him with a fond, if somewhat stern, look, and began reading the handwritten pages. The gist of Martin’s argument was that Icarus need not have died. If Daedalus had simply thought things through a bit more, Martin had argued, he’d have realized that they could have flown at night, or on a cloudy day. He’d have run tests, and added something to the wax that would keep it from melting, or changed the design of the wings so they weren’t reliant on something so tenuous for their very structure. 

Basically, Martin had argued that it wasn’t Icarus’s pride that had killed him, but Daedalus’s lack of foresight and disregard of basic common sense. 

“Bit difficult to follow sound engineering principals, when you’re trapped in a cave. Limited resources, and all.” 

“Not so difficult,” Martin argued. “It would’ve taken longer, and he’d have had to find a way around some of the...the...the setbacks, but he’d have got there in the end. If he’d just been willing to take his time, and keep trying.” He began tucking the items back into his box, settling them just so and smoothing his fingers over the lid. “This is the last thing, then.”

They walked down the attic stairs for the last time, out to the van with its _Icarus Removals_ logo. Martin did the customary checks of his mirrors, his lights, the wipers, and Douglas’s seat belt before turning the key. “Ready?”

“Absolutely. Fly us away home, Captain.”


End file.
